OH HI

If I were Kinley Dowling I'd be making a side trip to Syracuse after my fucking awesome band plays CMJ and poking Ra Ra Riot's violinist in the eye with my bow, then taking her job.

If I were me with tact and/or self-esteem, I would send this to someone because it's like my brain has been condensed and then set to terrific music.

(Note: I do not understand the line "I'm standing by your sister fair," if that IS actually the line; I cannot yet afford the record and its liner notes but have heard it and it is dope and YOU should totes buy it. This band was playing in Toronto the day I arrived for TIFF and I didn't go because it was $12 and I knew they would have dope merch so I probably would've blown my budget before the fest even started. But SHIT they are YES.)

Travis Barker is eating meat for the first time in 25 years to recover from his plane crash injuries.

The former Blink 182 drummer – who has been a strict vegetarian for most of his life - was advised to change his diet after suffering third degree burns to his legs and torso when the jet he was travelling in crashed on take off in Columbia, South Carolina, last month.

He said: 'I need protein from food rather than just protein supplements. I changed my diet. I would do anything I possibly could if they said like, 'There's a possibility you might heal faster if you do eat meat or just change your eating habits.' So I did. I don't regret it at all, I feel so much better.'

Whole thing here.

I found myself oddly affected by that accident -- I've always been a little infatuated with Mr. Barker despite his terrible taste in women, and he's a really great drummer, so to lose the use of his hands is probably the worst thing that could happen to him.

Anyway. This goes back to my number one meat-eating defense, which is that if cavemen were vegetarians we wouldn't even be here to be such pretentious assholes and divide basic survival into as many trendy, fucking ridiculous subgroups as possible.

Off to grab a cheeseburger...

The other day I composed a post about a story on this comedian kid Bo who I want to kick in the face for being a Wanker of Today that involved links and his picture and artfully wrought arguments about why the story I was quoting was terrible journalism and misleading, but I've only been able to get the tiniest sliver of internet in one corner of my apartment since the Hurricane that never happened happened and it cacked out and I lost it, so I just went to Wired's message board and wrote "Fuck this kid and fuck you too."

So this is the best I can do at the moment. I know you've just been on the edge of your seat waiting for an update. Back the fuck up into your seat!

Currently I am scripting patter for one Fred Lays, aka George Canyon, in a bizarre but coveted assignment as writer of the awards show at Nova Scotia Music Week. I dream that it will lead to a lucrative career writing local awards shows. Or at least local patter.

Also midway through a pack of scripts for the continued adventures of Johnny Grace and Max Flex, which we plan to shoot the first week of November. It's amazing how I am not undaunted by shooting five shorts in two days. Oh, experience! (Please, talk to me the day before shooting. That is if you can find a break in the vomiting.)

And I have a new roommate who is a celebrity and a new catmate who is not a celebrity but is easily the hottest cat in this house.

Finally, my band is playing the Hailfax Pop Explosion on October 23, 11:30pm at The Seahorse. I was walking home yesterday thinking that with it and two Atlantic Film Festival appearances, I will have officially done everything I could've wanted to do as a low-tier art fag.

So even though there's no money, travel or romance, there's that.

2-3-4!

And how.

Toronto was exhausting/disappointing.

I wrote about the most embarrassing thing that happened for The Coast anyway.

Although there was this:

squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!!!!!!!!!!

Later when she looked right at me I fucking freaked out and wrecked the photo:

i would make a poor war photographer

I wanted to say "Lauren you are fucking dope" but I had this fantasy where we would meet later and have a drink but instead Denise and I stood in the rain for an hour and a half, saw her from 100 feet away and then she didn't even stay for the movie and we were under an air conditioning unit and also the movie is about THE INTERMITTENT WINDSHIELD WIPER.

Lesson learned. CARPE DIEM THORNEY YOU DUMB BITCH.

Maybe it's because I've been rather busy, for me, or that I don't have a regular job to need to distract myself from, but TIFF is upon me all of a sudden. I won't feel excited, as I never do, until I am securely in the air, but shit it's been a long time since I've been anywhere, and no that overnight band trip to PEI does not count because it was car-show-car in about 26 hours.

I'll be blogging at The Coast as usual beginning Friday, but if anything dorky or embarrassing or too personal or unprofessional happens, I will post about it here.

AND THEN I come home to Kathleen motherfucking Edwards at the fucking Seahorse fucking FINALLY and a wide-open schedule for AFF which I can fill with panels, Viewfinding and delegate lounge recovery. And there is the matter of my own screening as well. Yep, it's gonna be a fine couple of weeks.

...for the fifth year in the same place. Woah. It always makes me think, "Well I guess this isn't the year I try out [Chicago/Los Angeles/Boston] either."

Can I just add that home-owning is unfathomable? I cannot fathom it. The un is too strong.

HEREHEREHEREHEREHEREHEREHERE.

gracious.jpg

Ellen Wheeler was the original Marley/Vicky on Another World (followed by a teenaged, pre-crazy Anne Heche and then a very fine Jensen Buchanan) and was playing Marley when NBC killed the show in 1998. The very smart producers of AW at the time (the greatest sadness came from knowing the show was better than it had been since the early ’90s) hauled Wheeler out of retirement, where she'd retreated after an Emmy-winning stint on All My Children, to re-play Marley, the good twin, who'd been hit by a car—wait for it—then disfigured in a hospital fire, which is how they explained the different actresses (who have a six-inch height difference, btw). Then she went batshit INSANE, and they were so close to really dealing with her rape from five years earlier, which would've been amazing continuity, but I digress. Eventually she kidnapped Vicky, was institutionalized, redeemed and fell in love again, but one didn't feed the other—the character got back to herself with only herself for support. It was really, really great.

When AW got cancelled, Wheeler went into directing at As the World Turns for a year, then over to Guiding Light, where she's been Executive Producer for years. I've always thought it was cool for an actress to completely remove herself from the business, step back in front of the camera, then head back behind the scenes only to emerge as a champion of a medium dying faster than print. There are only nine soaps on the air now. When I started watching Another World 18 years ago (!) there were close to 15. It doesn't get any respect, despite the lack of hiatus, smaller pay and crazier schedules than any other kind of television program. It's produced many a fine talent, including Julianne Moore and Amber Tamblyn.

And Ellen Wheeler believes in the art of it. Impressively, New York mag, a bastion of hip and a subscription I miss, wrote about it last week. If you've ever had a soap or are interested in the business of TV, it's worth a read. Just ignore the comments, which smack of "Get off my lawn" and are good examples of why you should not your nan how to turn on a computer.